One-Shot: Shell Cottage Love
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: I did a romantic Shell Cottage piece about three years ago, and when this idea came into my head, I wanted to revisit it! I hope you all enjoy!


**One-Shot: Shell Cottage Love**

It was surprisingly quick, how used he had gotten to being woken up by the sun.

It was a damn sight - and sound - nicer than some mornings over the past seven, eight months, where it had usually been Harry's rather loud snoring that greeted a new day. And then, that miserable winter, where he had awoken - in a room just down the hall - to no sound at all.

Ron Weasley gently threw the covers back and rose out of bed. Harry was in the other single bed, his back to him and the dapplings of sunlight, rumbling away. Quietly, Ron tiptoed out of the room and pattered down the hall to a bedroom containing a treasure far more precious than gold. Poking one head in, he observed her. Just to make sure she was still there. Even from clear across the room, he could spy the soothing rise and fall of her chest. Smiling tenderly, he closed the door and slipped down to the kitchen, busying himself at the stove. He found a packet of soup in the pantry cupboard, dumped the contents into a pot, and set the pot to boil. He worked so quickly and efficiently, that at one point a hand bumped the bowl next to him, so that it clattered along the counter-top, but did not break. There came a snort from just in the sitting room, and a black lump raised its head from the couch.

"What's going on?"

"Just me, Dean. Go back to sleep, mate." Dean Thomas just mumbled something in response and rolled over. Ron had to pity him. Poor bloke was probably getting the best sleep of his life; he could only imagine what 'accommodations' there had been at Malfoy Manor.

Finishing with the soup, and adding some healthy fruit and crackers, a glass of pumpkin juice, Ron carried the tray up to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Quietly opening the door with magic so as not to risk a free hand, he pushed back into the room.

And there she was, sitting up in bed, running her fingers through the long, bushy tendrils of her brown hair. She blinked when she saw him, then smiled shyly, though when she spoke, her voice sounded somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"I told you, you don't have to keep getting me anything."

Ron grinned back. "And I told you, please let me take care of you for a while. At least I have a purpose, and it's a ruddy good one."

He half-expected her to scold him for his language, but she didn't. Hermione Granger simply blinked at him, before smiling, and... was she blushing? No, trick of the early morning sunlight. He must have just been imagining it.

Hermione snuggled down into the bedclothes, wincing a little as she did so. Ron noticed. "Are you all right?" he asked a little too quickly.

"Fine, back's a little sore," she dismissed. "I can't sit up for very long." It was a small victory - days ago, Hermione hadn't had the strength to sit up at all.

Unbidden, Ron's thoughts wheeled back to just a week ago, when he had Disapparated her from Malfoy Manor and a grueling torture to this little oasis by the sea. Hermione had been bleeding all over him, unconscious, and the sea spray had kicked up into his eyes, stinging his vision along with his tears. He had practically thrown them both onto the front stoop of his brother's house, a sobbing, blubbering mess. And just as when he had been a child, Bill, his big brother, had done his level-best to make everything better. Though it had been a near thing. No one said it, wouldn't dare to around the youngest Weasley boy, but Hermione was lucky to be alive.

Ron shook his head to clear it, the rage at a certain Bellatrix Lestrange retreating to the edge of his consciousness... for now. Dipping the spoon into the bowl of soup, he cradled Hermione's head in his one big paw, lifting her head to the proferred broth and bringing it to her lips. Holding her like this, he tamped down the urge to bestow something else upon her cute little mouth. Being with her, like this, was enough for now.

Hermione gulped down the chicken soup, wincing a little as her throat bobbled through the swallow. The struggle accentuated a thin line across her neck, and Ron felt the red monster of revenge roaring in protest once again, though he hid it well.

"I don't need to be babied," she insisted. Though her smile suggested otherwise. Secretly, she thought Ron's devotion adorable.

"Didn't your mum ever nurse you while you were sick?" Ron smirked.

"Mm-hmm," Hermione nodded. "Except I've never been this..." She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"All the more reason for me to watch over you," Ron insisted, as if that rested his case. In truth, he didn't know if it did, but he had always known Hermione was the better skilled in manners of logic. Setting the broth aside, he offered her a pack of crackers. She nodded, holding up one finger, and Ron removed the top waver from the unwrapped stack. This he fed to her too.

"You look better. There's more coloring in your face," Ron murmured as she chewed.

"Really?" Hermione mumbled, and he was shocked by her willingness to talk through the last of the cracker. "I hadn't noticed. I'm still such a mess."

"You're a beautiful mess." The classic line from _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ fell from his lips without thought.

She stared at him, taken aback by the compliment, and Ron flushed as red as his hair. Never mind that the line had come from a chapter all about _"How to Praise Your Pregnant, Magical Wife"_ , but the context now seemed woefully insensitive. Does one look beautiful after being tortured? To Ron, he thought so. Somehow, Hermione had retained her loveliness, and enough of her spirit, that - slowly but surely - her vivaciousness was returning to her. Even then, how should one look after being tortured? Praise be to Merlin that he didn't have another point of reference.

A bolt of courage surged through Ron, and he dared to caress Hermione's hair off of her brow. "I'm so glad you're safe," he murmured. He allowed himself to press a kiss to her crown. It was with relief as he pulled away to discover that she was smiling, if she was still a little shocked by the affection. It only made Ron's gaze more tender.

There was a loud clearing of the throat behind them, and Ron glanced back to see an awake Harry in the doorway. "I'll be down by... by the grave site."

Ron's heart sank. He had forgotten that was today. "I'll join you. Wait for me?"

Harry nodded and left the room.

Ron glanced back to his secret love, and his sinking heart now broke to see the tears in her eyes. It had been hard enough to tell her, when she woke up the day after their escape; he still wasn't sure if it had been right, at least in terms of timing. "Do you want to go, sweetheart?"

She didn't seem to notice the term of endearment, as she was too busy throwing back the covers. "I need to. I owe it to Dobby."

"We all do," Ron muttered sadly. As Hermione made to stand, her balance teetered, and he quickly swept her off her feet and cradled her, bridal-style. It was almost instinctive. Hermione gave a surprised squeal that made his heart soar.

"Ronald!" Though she was smiling and definitely flushing now.

"Just on the stairs, love. I'll let you walk from the porch." And Ron carried her grandly down the stairs.

* * *

Harry was laying down flowers that Luna and Dean wordlessly handed to him, placing them by the headstone, when he glanced back to see Hermione taking slow, but steady steps towards him, Ron's arm across her shoulders, and his free hand interlaced with hers.

"Just one more step, Hermione," Ron encouraged as they crested the top of the little hillside. "There, the worst is over. If you're too tired after, I'll carry you back down, if you like."

Hermione smirked at him. "I'll think about it. But it's nice to know chivalry isn't dead."

Harry and Dean exchanged knowing snickers, but they quickly faded as the full force of the last word hit them. _Dead_.

Dobby was dead. Sacrificed himself to save all of their lives.

The bare-knuckles service was a mess. Harry tried to give a eulogy, but broke down halfway through, which prompted Luna to salvage what little she could by asking everyone to go around the circle and recall one happy memory about Dobby. This went only marginally better, with Hermione crying into Ron's shirtfront the entire time. Harry concluded the proceedings by transfiguring the bundle of flowers - most of which were old and fading - into a wreathed bouquet of roses.

"Beautiful," Hermione murmured against Ron's shoulder. "I want roses in my wedding bouquet someday. And I've always liked the name Rose."

Ron blinked in surprise. He had never known this about Hermione, and he got a nice rush from learning something new about her every day. But this... was she trying to tell him something? Dear Merlin, he hoped she was. He could picture it in his mind's eye: Hermione in a white dress, back-dropped against the white of snow, gliding down an aisle at the end of which he himself stood. Hermione again, this time rocking a little baby with tufts of red hair on its head, over a cradle.

The only other person to hear this revelation, Harry quirked an emphasized eyebrow in Ron's direction. Evidently, he had gotten a deeper meaning from Hermione's comments too. The Chosen One now purposefully strolled down the hill after Dean and Luna and Mr. Ollivander, leaving Ron and Hermione alone.

"Walking or carrying?" Ron inquired. He felt it was only right to ask. He still wondered whether sweeping her off her feet in her bedroom had been the right move - just another link in a chain of second-guessing.

Her answer surprised him. "Carry me." Her cheeks tinged pink. "Please."

And so he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, and carried her grandly down the hill, not stopping until they had reached her bed. Though with the way he and Hermione were gazing at each other, neither one of them noticed.

* * *

There was something about being by the sea that made the days pass so quickly here. Ron would have thought it would have been the other way around - his winter in this place had felt agonizingly slow. But perhaps, limbo here felt more peaceful because his loved ones were around, one in particular.

From against the wall, he silently observed Hermione as she unbraided her hair at her vanity, in a borrowed, frilled nightgown from Fleur. Ron could tell she didn't like Fleur's taste in nightwear, but it was all they had, and Fleur had done so much for her, so she didn't complain.

"Are you ready, honey?" Ron rumbled gently. He had taken more liberty in using such loving phrases with her; she hadn't called him out on it, so maybe... he was doing something right.

Hermione nodded, and crossed to the bed, sliding beneath the covers. Only then did Ron let himself rest; he could never relax until he knew Hermione was safe and secure for the night. Though, he had discovered, sometimes the night did not guard against every threat. There were still those of the mind. "OK. Good night, love."

He turned for the door, but Hermione's sweet voice stopped him. She sounded almost panicked. "Ron?"

He turned back to find her sitting up in bed. She visibly gulped, suddenly appearing nervous. "Will you stay with me? Tonight?"

He didn't even have to weigh an answer. "Yeah." Slowly, he squeezed himself in beside her, and felt dizzy with happiness at how she curled into his side, her head on his chest. She fit so... perfectly.

And then, at the last after he had felt her drift off to sleep, but before slumber claimed him, Ron whispered, "Always."

* * *

If Harry noticed the conspicuous absence of Ron from their bedroom that first of what became many nights, he never commented on it or even let on. Before long, it became apparent that Hermione needed Ron in her bed every night, and that Ron needed her there just as much. It was what kept him from drowning in the guilt and the shame that he had ever left her in the first place, as he would gaze down at her face, bathed in moonlight and the most peaceful he had seen it in a long time, before he drifted off to sleep himself.

As the days flew by, Hermione grew stronger. She soon graduated to sitting in on the Trio's pow-wow sessions with Griphook, though if Ron had had even half of the illness excuse that Hermione had once possessed, he would have taken it and milked it to the hilt. The goblin was miserable to work with; the only consolation was that he seemed to trust them as little as Harry and his friends trusted him. But then, Ron would remember that they were going to have to somehow double-cross the bastard and not give him the coveted sword of Gryffindor as payment.

Things were at a roadblock until Hermione discovered that some of Bellatrix's hair had stuck to her clothing. Upon her relaying of this find, Ron had not liked how Harry's eyes gleamed. Not one little bit. Sure, he'd always known that his best mate had an itch for living dangerously, not because he particularly wanted to, but because the dangerous options were usually the only ones available to them. With that, Harry had hatched a plan: Hermione would impersonate Bellatrix, and lead them all - with Harry and Griphook under the Invisibility Cloak - into the vault. Ron agreed to the plan, but with crossed fingers dancing in his mind; he was going to work out a way to leave Hermione behind and out of danger up until the last minute. Oh, Ron knew she would never go for it without an impassioned row and a full-court press of convincing, and from the way Harry had pounced on the hair theory, he likely knew that Hermione would be put at unnecessary risk so soon after Malfoy Manor, and he just didn't care.

But on this one particular night, Ron did not let himself think of Bellatrix or goblins or vaults or hairs, and just focused on the locked chess match between Harry and Dean, Hermione cuddled up beside him on the couch.

It was apparent that Dean was a rubbish chess player; Harry had him dead to rights, and that was only because Harry had spent years perfecting his technique after losing each and every time to Ron. Hermione had never been much of an athlete - chess or otherwise - but even she could see that the game was won. Shifting herself off of where she had been leaning against Ron, she stretched. "Well. Not that this isn't fun, but I think I'll go for a walk."

"I'll go with you!" Ron bounded off the cushions after her. She had gotten much better at walking again; Ron hardly needed to carry her anywhere now (much to his disappointment). But he still felt this insatiable need to be with her, whether she needed his assistance or not.

The two strolled out onto the front porch, down the steps, and soon the wood at their feet flowed almost seamlessly into sand. The tide crashed in a lulling way just off to their right, as they strolled along the beach, just beyond that place where footprints disappear. Tentatively, Ron reached out and took Hermione's hand, and was quite pleased that she accepted it.

About halfway down the shoreline, the pair paused to watch the moon rising over the horizon. Hermione nuzzled her head against Ron's shoulder.

"What a beautiful night," she purred.

"Hmm," Ron acknowledged, his thoughts entirely on the strands of her hair tickling his nostrils, both with their touch... and their smell. She had to be using Fleur's shampoo, he noted; she smelled very French. But underneath all of that was a whiff of perfume - the perfume, he reminded himself smugly, that he had bought her for her birthday - that was simply Hermione. _His_ Hermione.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Hermione continued.

"Believe me, I feel the same," Ron murmured. He would love nothing more than to just be here, and with her. Let the rest of the wizarding world crumble around them! But then, he remembered Mum and Dad and Fred and George and Ginny, and chastised himself for the thought.

"But we'll have to leave for Gringotts soon," Hermione's reminder brought him back to reality. And he pounced.

"Yes, we will... but you won't. I want you to stay here."

He expected her to step stiffly away from him, ream him out, launch into a row about how she was an independent woman and could do what she felt like. But instead, she merely raised her head off his shoulder just slightly, and turned to look him fully in the face. Her hands were resting on his chest in a very gentle, intimate fashion, and Ron hoped she couldn't feel the tremor of his heart beneath her palms.

"I know what you're feeling. And I'm touched, really..." She peered up into his face. "But I've been getting better. And I'm the only one who can impersonate her convincingly."

"Not necessarily," Ron said. "Harry and I could make a go of playing her." It was a weak thread; he knew it, but it was the only way he could make Harry's plan go in his favor so that both men got what they wanted.

Hermione giggled. "While I would like nothing more than to see you or Harry in a dress, I don't think it would suit you."

"Getting my feet pinched in high heels is small pain compared to the thought of you in danger. Losing you." His voice was nearly a whisper.

Hermione's brown orbs sparkled in the moonlight as she blinked. Then, shaking her head, she smiled gently. "You won't lose me."

"You don't know that. Hermione, I know what it's like to lose everyone you care about. I spent an entire winter experiencing that, then again at the Manor. Believe you me, once was enough. So indulge me, love, just this once. Please stay behind, here, where it's safe. For me?"

To his surprise, she didn't shoot down his plea right away, and he latched onto this. "If Harry and I manage to break back out of the bank again, I promise we'll come back for you." _And go where?_ a voice in his head asked. But he figured he could cross that bridge when they came to it. Slowly, Hermione nodded. "I will think about it. But we have to check with Harry first."

Ron wanted to say that Harry didn't get veto power when it came to her and her safety, but Ron was so euphoric that he had at least gotten a maybe out of Hermione that he didn't care. "Thank you!" Smiling, he pulled into his embrace, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. He loved this woman so much! _I love you so much!_

He only realized that he had spoken that thought aloud when Hermione pulled back, stepped away, her eyes round as saucers and piercing in the moon's glow. Her mouth was agape. "You... you _what_?" she whispered. "What did you say?"

He stared at her, and he was sure in the ethereal light, that she could see his face was entirely red. His heart twinged with fear and anguish. She didn't love him back. What else might explain her reaction? Well, let it be. At least he would confess his love and know that he had found the courage to do so. Hands bracing her shoulders, gazing into her brown orbs, he poured out:

"Yes. I am in love with you, Hermione Jean Granger. And I want to be with you and take care of you forever."

There was a long, almost unbearable silence as she gazed at him, bewildered. Ron held his breath, waiting for her rejection to plunge a stake through his heart. And then -

Hermione's delicate little fingers fisted his jumper. Standing on her tiptoes, she mashed her lips up against his. The gesture caught Ron so by surprise, that it took a moment for him to envelop his arms about her tiny frame with a moan.

Hermione was pressing her lips into his earnestly, again and again. Ron felt wetness drip onto his cheek, and realized there were tears in her eyes. That she was crying.

"I love you!" Hermione whispered into his mouth, her voice strangely hoarse, the timbre of it breaking, as if the very declaration of her love itself was making her weep. Ron trembled with ecstasy and lingering disbelief, as he clutched Hermione closer and parted her lips with a low groan, deepening the kiss.

When they broke the kiss at last, both were gasping, panting, their faces permanently flushed. "Bedroom," Ron wheezed. Turning on the spot, he Disapparated with her into Hermione's room.

And then they were on each other, their limbs crashing together as violently as their lips did. Ron staggered them both back onto Hermione's - no, _their_ \- bed, and the pair proceeded to make out, kissing and kissing as if each kiss was their last.

It was only when Ron absently thought how small Hermione was, nestled beneath him, that he managed to restrain himself. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he panted.

"No," and the husky lust in Hermione's voice made his cock violently twitch.

"If I wasn't so afraid of hurting you," and Ron bore his eyes into her face to make damn sure she saw the desire there. "I would make love to you in this bed here and now."

Hermione gasped, and then whimpered. Her mind was reeling, over Ron's kiss, and how he could ever, ever want someone so plain as her. "My... my breasts are too small."

Ron chuckled. "Beautiful." And he wanted to cup them in his calloused mitts right now, though he held back.

"I... don't have the best figure."

"It's beautiful," Ron countered again.

Hermione gulped. "I want to make love with you too," she whispered shyly. "But I... want to save myself for marriage. When we're married."

He nearly fell off the bed. His grin could have lit up, a hundred times over, the moon beaming down on them. " _We_?" he cocked an eyebrow cheekily. "Been planning our wedding already, have you, love?"

Hermione turned an adorable shade of pink and hit him on the chest. "Shut up. I know I'll want Daddy to walk me down the aisle, if I can reverse the spell, of course. Harry for Best Man..."

"I should bloody well hope so!" Ron nodded in approval.

"And roses in my bridal bouquet, but I already told you that. Hope you took the hint! That's as far as I've gotten."

Ron chuckled as he rolled off of her and onto his back. "I'm surprised that's all, love. Knowing you, I would have thought you'd have the whole thing planned out right down to the wedding party and band."

Hermione smirked. "There have been... other things... taking priority on the schedule. Namely, Horcruxes. Dark Wizards."

Ron nodded in agreement, though the grin refused to leave his face. Hermione Granger was in love with him. _Him_! She wanted to marry him. _Him_!

"Well, just so you're aware, I vote that we should have Kingsley officiate. I always have liked his voice."

"Inspired, Ronald," Hermione laughed. A slight pause, and then: "I want to make you happy."

"You do."

"... Will it make you happy if I stayed behind?"

Ron gaped at her, hardly daring to believe it. "You mean...?"

"On one condition," she eyed him pointedly.

"Name it, my love, and it will be so."

Hermione smirked. "Make Harry wear the dress. And I want photographic evidence!"

"Done and done!" Ron cackled. And throwing himself on top of her, he gave her the most passionate kiss he could muster.

* * *

The sun was rising fast into the sky as Ron waited on the dunes by Dobby's grave with the goblin. Finally, a witch whom he wanted nothing more than to kill came over the crest.

"How do I look?" Bellatrix's voice was much too deep and Ron fought back a snort.

"Hideous. Falsetto it."

Harry cleared his throat and tried again. This time, his imitation of Bellatrix was quite uncanny. "Better?"

"Loads."

Harry coughed uncomfortably as he changed octaves again. "If we get out of this, you're buying me a bloody glass of water!" Merlin, it was going to be a long day.

"If we get out of this, I'll buy you a whole keg of butterbeer," Ron swore. Better Harry going through this than the beautiful witch now arriving on the hillside with a gentle smile.

Striding up to him, Hermione upturned her lips in amusement and tenderness as she worked to straighten Ron's tie. "You came back safe to me. Do you hear?" Her voice was at once both playful and admonishing, as though she was a wife insisting that her husband be home in time for dinner.

"Yes, Mum," Ron cracked. Hermione now turned serious as she gazed into his eyes. "Take me with you!" she begged, though she knew it was fruitless. "I wish I could go with you!"

"You _will_ be with me," Ron vowed, beaming at her lovingly. "In here." And he pressed her hand right over his heart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry make a face, either out of impatience or queasiness at what even Ron knew was terribly romantic. He ignored it, however, deciding that flipping Harry off was really not worth the effort.

There was slight moment, as Ron and Hermione wordlessly gazed into each other's eyes. Then, Hermione pulled Ron into a fierce embrace and kissed his lips soundly; she could give a bloody damn that Harry was watching, that she and Ron were openly kissing in front of their best friend. Since becoming romantically involved on that magical night (had it really only been three days?), she and Ron had decided that they weren't going to hide what they felt from the Boy Who Lived. They could only hope for his blessing. Hermione hugged Ron close in her arms, in her embrace. "Be careful," she implored.

Ron nodded. "I will." He pecked her lips sweetly one last time, then turned to Harry. "Let's go, dancing queen."

This time, Harry scowled, and Ron had no qualms about flipping him off. The last thing he heard as he and Harry and the goblin Disapparated was Hermione's trilling, crystal laugh.

Hermione waited for a few moments on that windy hillside and then turned sadly back for the cottage. It was much more empty now. Dean, Luna and Mr. Ollivander had all departed, and Bill and Fleur were still inside asleep. Returning to what had been her and Ron's room, she spotted an envelope on the nightstand that she hadn't seen the night before, or even when she had gotten up that morning. Perhaps it had been placed there while she was in the shower? Silently, Hermione opened the envelope addressed to her, and took out the parchment, slowly reading:

 _My sweet beloved,_

 _I know how hard this must be for you, to watch Harry and I gallivant off on some fool's mission without you. Believe me, I'm beginning to wonder if leaving you behind was a good idea. But then I remember that you will be safe, and my mind is at peace. I've nearly lost you twice now. I refuse to risk that again. I love you too much._

 _Hermione, I love you more than anyone has ever loved, I reckon. I love you, precious, with all my heart, and to know that you love me means my life. I cannot wait for You-Know-Who to go fuck off and die already (language, sorry, couldn't help it!), so that I can begin the life I know I'm meant to live - with you. I can't wait to marry you. I can't wait to watch you carry and give birth to our babies. How lucky our children will be to have a mother like you._

 _We still have so much to talk about when I get back. And I_ _will_ _come back. I have too much to come home to. I adore you, my sweet love. You'll have my heart for all eternity, my beautiful Hermione._

 _Devotedly, forever and always yours,_

 _Ron_

Blinking back tears, Hermione clutched the parchment close to her heart. Though they hadn't the time to discuss future children, it made Hermione nearly dance with glee to know that Ron wanted babies with her. That he wanted to her to have his babies.

And so, there was nothing left to do but sit on the cushioned loveseat by the bedroom window and wait. Staring out into the distance and the lapping sea, waiting for the moment - hopefully, by nightfall - when her ginger-haired Knight would come striding back to sweep her away. If it was into one last battle, or marriage, or even in his bed to make tender love, it didn't matter. For Ron would come back to her, as he always had, for better or worse, in good times and bad. She knew, deep down, that the man who she felt practically married to already in her heart, would come back.


End file.
